Dust to dust
by Jaycie Victory
Summary: 'Dirt had a habit of clinging.' Tinkerbell remembers Baelfire. My take on what I think is one of several unexplored relationships on OUAT. Based round 3x16. Drabble. Complete.


**A/N This is a drabble depicting my take on what I think is one of several unexplored relationships on OUAT. It is based round 3x16. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Dust to dust**

She brushed at her arms, an ineffectual attempt to strip away the soot-like sand. Dirt had a habit of clinging, especially in the near-tropical temperatures.

She hadn't really cared that much about her appearance when she arrived on the island – what was the point in looking nice when you'd lost everything that made you you? – but even if she had, there was so much dust and dirt and sand, even if she had wanted to she would've been hard pushed to stay free of it.

Besides, sometimes there were good reasons to be dirty. Playing amongst the sand dunes was one of them.

She watched the boy rolling down the ridge, hooting with laughter.

He could have been a fairy himself, a sprite, an imp – something eldritch, with that elfin face, pointed chin and deep dark eyes that were too old for his years.

It was those eyes, so sad, and too grown-up, that had made her stay when she first stumbled upon him in the cave, fast asleep. He'd woken with a gasp, slashing a cutlass, wild-eyed and screaming for his 'Poppa'.

She was used to the boys here, had an uneasy truce with them. They went their way, and she went hers. So she'd turned to leave, assuming he was one of theirs who'd strayed too far and had to make camp for the night.

The blade against her throat had changed her mind. He had her pressed up against the wall in an instant, and her hand had flashed to her knife, ready to kill if necessary, before the look in his eyes forestalled her.

Bereft. Alone. Braced for hurt.

It was the look of someone who had already been betrayed more times than they cared to remember. It was a look she knew well (and another reason she avoided reflective surfaces).

So, she raised her hands palm up and spoke as soothingly as she could. Something that didn't come as easily as it once had.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

The dark eyes flickered in their dirt-smudged face. "Grown-ups always say that. Forgive me if I don't believe you right away."

She paused, considering her options, wondering how she might convince him. The taut silence was broken by a rumbling growl, greatly magnified by the cave's acoustics.

The boy looked startled, in the dim lighting she thought she could even detect a faint blush. His eyes lost the eldritch quality and he suddenly looked terribly young.

"You're hungry," she found herself saying. "Would you like me to take you somewhere you can eat?"

The eyes warred between suspicion and hope. "Why would you do that?"

She shrugged in spite of the proximity of a sharpened edge.

"I don't like seeing unnecessary suffering."

A few more seconds ticked by then the cutlass was gradually lowered; the boy leapt back as though expecting a sudden attack.

She smiled at him in reassurance, the muscles in her cheeks pulling at the unfamiliar movement.

"Come on. I'll take you to the Fishing Pool. Do you have a rod?" She started walking away, deliberately exposing her back, hoping he'd absorb the subliminal message. After a moment's hesitation he followed her, then his steps turned eager until he was striding alongside.

"I can make one – I'm good at making things. My name's Bae. What's yours?"

Her eyes flicked to his. He looked so happy and eager to please. For the first time in a long time she felt the urge to help someone, to help them find happiness.

In that moment she resolved to remind Bae what it was to be a child, what it was to trust.

"I'm Tinkerbell," she replied.

* * *

Tinkerbell brushed at the mark on her skirt. A skirt very different from the clothing she'd known in the Fairy Kingdom or the ones she had fashioned on Neverland.

It was a futile gesture; the stain had already set. She'd spilled some of the earth when wielding the spade.

And dirt had a habit of clinging.

She walked away from the graveside, from the mourners, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

She'd carry the marks of Bae's burial with her. That was fitting.

She'd carry him with her, too.

_fin_


End file.
